Posts Tagged ‘winter’

Day Two Hundred and Forty-seven: The Selfless Daughter

January 26, 2012 Leave a comment

The wind whipped and howled, picking up the tiny crystalline flecks of snow off the ground and sending them into Valerie’s eyes. She squinted against the snow, impossibly bright against a noontime sun that failed in its promise to bring warmth and life to the world. Every step was a trial, lifting her leg free of the snow and then plunging it back down again. She was breathing heavily almost as soon as she started out, and she was already sweating under the layers and layers of winter clothes that were all she had to protect herself from a freezing and unforgiving winter.

Her thoughts turned to her mother. It was for her that Valerie had gone out, and she found herself trying to choose between accepting her fate and hating the woman who had forced her out into the elements. Her mother was old, getting frail, and reveling in it. She knew that Valerie would want the best for her – she always had, even since she was a little girl. Their relationship was one of unbalance, a giver and a taker, and Valerie knew where she fell in that equation. Every time she said it would be different, and every time she gave in.

She pinned her watering eyes on the red flag in the distance and trudged her way towards it. The wind cut through her clothes, and she wondered if the little skin that showed between her hat and her scarf might not turn black and freeze off. Unlikely, she knew, but her mind took the image and ran with it.

“Don’t you worry yourself about me,” her mother had said, ostentatiously leaning on her cane to wake up.

“Mom,” Valerie said, inflecting it into at least three syllables. She already had a second sweatshirt on and had her giant puffy red coat in hand. “You can’t go out there, mom. It’s not safe for you.”

Her mother raised a thin white eyebrow. “Oh, and it’s safe for you then?” She stood up all the way, trembling as she did so. “I should let my only daughter out into that weather?” She shook her head and waved a thin, veiny hand. “No. No, Valerie, you sit. Have some soup, and I’ll go.”

With a sigh of very long suffering, Valerie took her mother by the shoulder and guided her back to her chair. “Mom, those winds’ll know you off your feet before you know it.” Her mother sat down with far less difficulty than when she stood up, and Valerie was sure that her lips were about to curl up in a smile. “I’m not a little girl, mom. I’ll go, and I’ll be back before you know it.” She patted her mother on the shoulder and zipped up the coat. “Just you want,” she’d said.

Now it was hard for Valerie not to regret that decision. Not that she would have sent her mother out into this freezing, blasted hellscape. The woman could barely walk across the room without complaining about her back or her knees or just making a pointed remark about how it was never this cold when she was a girl. Without Valerie, the woman would have been without options.

The red flag was closer now. A few more feet, she thought. A few more and I’ll be able to make my way back. She lifted a foot and brought it down.

Lifted the other foot, brought it down.


Then the other.


Then the other.

She arrived at the little red flag. Quickly, almost angrily, she reached out and put it back down to the side of the mailbox. For all this, she wanted there to be something fantastic in the mail. Something to make going out feel more worthwhile. When she opened the mailbox, there were three catalogs, some flyer from a state senate candidate, and a bill for the credit card that Valerie was pretty sure her mother wasn’t supposed to have anymore.

She looked back up at the house and her trail of footsteps. The trip back would seem shorter than the trip out had been, that was for sure., but the storm that would hit when she got there would put anything the winter could throw at them to shame.

Valerie slammed the mailbox closed and started to trudge back to the house.

The things she did for that woman.